The Rebel Faction

Fallen Tears and Bullet Shells - Act One: Backwards Planet, Backwards Jedi

The last shot rang out inside the crumbling temple, an exclamation point to all of the pain and suffering that had led up to this moment. Standing over the smoking body I couldn't help but feel total satisfaction.

To make any sense of it I'll have to go back three years from now. Back to the night the pain started. I was still a Jedi Knight back then. My fall was just then beginning. It was a dark and gloomy night, much like this one...


The Jedi approached the tavern alone, his brown robes swaying slightly in the breeze. Zark Ekan wasn't here looking for a drink nor was he looking for the company. He was looking for a man. A man who might help him learn a little more about the past he had been so denied all these long years.

The message he had recieved earlier that day had been like a sledge hammer, destroying his entire surroundings like they were nothing. The sense of duty and pride he felt in his work was gone. The sense of honor and dignity he felt in being a Jedi had been destroyed.

Right now, he didn't know what to think.

It had been months since he had arrived on this backwards planet, searching, hoping for some explanation as to where he came from. He had fleshed out many possible relatives, all of them ending up in false leads and dead ends. Until this one. Mr. Jeremiah Bettis, a possible distant relative. Zark had written to him a week ago in hope of information. What he had gotten was more than that. Much more.

In short, it was a five page letter on why Zark should not have been a Jedi and why he had so much anger inside of him.

The door to the tavern opened with a small creak. The planet had not yet invented sliding doors. Many of the occupants turned and offered him stares, all of them empty, devoid of life. Zark was walking in a dream world and he was ready to wake up. That salvation wouldn't come for him.

"Roland! How's it going?" the bartender called out to him in his usual, cheery voice. Zark felt nothing. No emotion, "The usual, I'm guessin'?

Roland. Roland Deschain. The false alias Zark had been living the life of ever since he had landed on this planet. Ekan would definitely stand out, and thats exactly what Zark hadn't wanted.

"Yeah." was all he cared to provide. The charade was getting old real fast.

"Still won't drink, eh?"

"Mm..." Zark was too busy searching the tavern to make any kind of conversation. Mr. Bettis hadn't provided him with a description, but Zark had a feeling he would know him when he saw him.

"Unless he sees you first." A devilish little voice piped up in his ear.

In a flash the butt of Zark's pistol was drawn and pressing into the stomach of the man who had spoken. All of it was hidden under his robes, but Zark got the distinct feeling that everyone in the tavern's eyes were on him. The pistol wasn't a blaster. Zark didn't want to risk standing out. It was a simple projectile weapon only to be found on this planet.

"Now now, Mr. Deschain...we wouldn't want to kill the only man willing to tell you about your past, now would we?" Zark had already grown to hate that voice.

"Mr. Bettis, I presume? All right. Start talking."

"First you remove that simplistic little sidearm from my stomach."

With a grunt and a nod, Zark slowly complied. He didn't know why he had done it in the first place. Maybe it was just because the man irked him, but more likely because he couldn't sense anything when he probed Jeremiah with the Force. Even more likely was the fact that Jeremiah had read his thoughts with his first sentence. He was either psychic or a Force user, and Zark was betting his money on the latter.

"Indeed I am Force sensitive, Mr. Deschain. So perceptive of you. Just like your fath-" Jeremiah ended abruptly. Apparently, he hadn't intended to let that much information out too quickly.

"What do you know about my father?!" Zark nearly shouted out, partially forgetting where he was. A couple people near him turned their heads, but no more outbursts seemed forthcoming from Jeremiah, so they didn't linger long.

"Now now, Mr. Deschain. Drawing attention to yourself isn't the best of ideas. I've been watching you for a while and so far you haven't let anything slip. In fact, this is the most uncharacteristic thing you've done...for a normal resident of this planet, anyway."

"What do you know about my father?" Zark asked again, this time much more quietly.

"Know about him? I knew him, once upon a time. Yes...your father was quite a character...but I'm getting ahead of myself, now. Lets take a walk, shall we?"


The shadow of the darkside was walking hand in hand with Mr. Bettis, but I, like a fool, took the bait. I couldn't possibley have known back then that I was already on my way down the path...

The night was dark and cold, fitting for such a meeting. Jeremiah seemed to be waiting for something, but I didn't know what it was. I wish I had...

"So. You wish to know about your father?" It was a rhetorical question, and Zark knew it. But that didn't matter.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes...I know you're here to learn about your father," Jeremiah replied, giving Zark another grin, "But the question was do you really want to know."

A pause.

"Yes."

"Hopefully you really believe that," Jeremiah said, "What I'm about to say is one of the most cruel stories you've ever heard. Are you still willing?"

Another pause, this one longer.

"Yes."

"Good. Very good. You're father was a Jedi, you know," Jeremiah began, "Just like you. Maybe not just like you. He was less hate-filled."

Zark winced. Not because Jeremiah thought it was true, but because Zark knew it was true.

"He and his wife, you're mother, weren't originally born here. Rather, their ship crashed. Your mother was giving birth at the time. It was a painful one. She might not have survived had your father not diverted most of the power to the machines preforming the operation. Thats what caused the ship to go down."

Another wince. They had obviously died here, so in a way, he had caused it.

"They traveled for days with little rations. Soon, they began to wonder if there was any sentient life here at all. That is, until they found this city. It was immediately apparent that it was backwards. Frell, the doors aren't even metal, let alone durasteel."

It had been hard living on this planet in the past few months, if only temporarily.

"You're not answering my questions," Zark interrupted, getting impatient, "Most of this I know, or easily guessed."

"Calm down, calm down," Jeremiah replied, another one of those grins Zark hated flashing across his face, "I'm just getting to that. Eventually you're father was approached by a group of residents who were not natives, and had easily recognized them by their clothing and appearance."

"They offered your father help, but he was hesitant. You see, he couldn't sense them through the Force, which he knew meant they were Force adept. When he asked them, they would not tell him anything. Not if they were Jedi or Sith..."

"And what happened?" Zark asked eagerly, although he was far from grinning.

"They were Sith," Jeremiah shrugged, "They betrayed your father to his death. He managed to get you and your mother to a ship before he went down, but she had been hit by a stray blaster earlier on. I guess she didn't make it, since you're here asking questions."

"How do you know all this?" the questions had been eating away at Zark for some time, "Who told you?"

"Nobody told me," Jeremiah replied, grinning, "I was there. No, no. I'm not one of the Sith. I was your father's...servant. With pay, of course. A butler, if you will. He didn't necessarily hate them, but his mother insisted that whenever you saw one you cried. But you always cried."

"Strange. You don't seem very old..." Zark said, his eyebrows narrowing slightly.

"I have kept well, haven't I?" Jeremiah replied, giving out a bellowing chuckle. He didn't laugh, though. He never laughed, "But you must understand, Zark. There are only so many things you can't pick up on when serving under a Jedi Knight. I owe no allegiance to the Jedi, so I must confess I have used my powers to my personal gain occasionally, but I am by no means a Sith..."

The explanation wasn't good enough for Zark. Jeremiah disturbed him, and he wasn't so sure about his allegiance in the Force. But Jeremiah hadn't attacked him, and Zark was still technically a Jedi. But even know, he could tell he was falling. Falling fast. Hopefully someone would toss out a rope in time.

But would he grab it?

No. I was destined not to. In fact, by that time no rope was long enough. No rope could reach me. Jeremiah had given me an objective. Slay the Sith responsible for my parent's death, and if they were already dead, well I'd piss on their graves. Jeremiah, without a doubt, intended this. And thats what the grin really meant. You're going down, Ekan. Way down...

It is strange how two different people fighting for different ideals might cross on their paths. After falling to the Darkside and losing all hope of being able to do good again, I was still intent upon my purpose. No longer for the good of the people, but for myself. For my family. What is the old saying? "Blood is thicker than water."? Yes. Blood is thicker than water, and I spilt a helluva lot of blood that night.

The man knew he had no hope left, yet he still struggled to breathe. He had been punctured by five bullets, collapsing one of his lungs and puncturing his right kidney. Yet still he gasped on and on, knowing full well he didn't have much time left in this world. Zark was prepared to milk that time for all it was worth.

The Fallen placed one foot upon the man's chest, and began to press down. There was a pop of a rib breaking, and the man gasped in pain, trying vainly to scoop his fluids back into his body. It was a pathetic sight, and Zark wanted to end it there. But he required information.

"Who sent you?" Zark demanded fiercely.

The man continued to gasp, but made no effort to reply.

"WHO SENT YOU?!" Zark bellowed, pressing down harder. Pop! Another cracked rib.

"L-L-L..." the man tried to gasp out.

"Who?!" Pop!

"L-L-Lo-Lor-Lord..."

"Lord...!"

"L-L-Lord He-He-" Pop!, "Argh! L-Lord Hell...Hellfi-fire..."

"Where is he?" Zark asked, managing an air of calmness.

"H-h-he..." Pop, pop!, "Ugh! He..."

The man struggled to pull his hand up. Four fingers (the fifth had apparently been severed) lifted, and three curled back. The remaining one pointed at an abandoned-looking tavern. The Ragnarock.

"Who-" Zark began, but the man had already died.

The Fallen didn't even bother to step over the man, instead simply walking over the corpse's chest. There were a couple more pops as the reamining ribs broke. Blood oozed from countless wounds. Slowly and cautiously Zark crossed the street, but met no resistance. Peering through one of the dirt-stained windows of the Ragnarock, he could not see anyone inside. Zark pushed the door open and stepped out of the rain.

Seemingly abandoned...or not. A man, most likely the bartender, popped out from under the bar, a shotgun-like weapon in his hands. The gun fired, but not at Zark. Instead, the man, or rather, the corpse fired at the ceiling. As he fell back. One of the pistol's rested loosely in Zark's hand. It had been an unconscious act, and the Fallen was a little surprised himself. No matter. He sometimes liked surprises.

Zark stepped over this corpse, stopping only to scoop up the shotgun. He stepped through the door to the back room. There were people here. A lot of people. And all of them were surprised to see him. Surprised to see him walking, that is.

These were the men who had been ordered to guard "Da Bosses" place. The ones who hadn't been outside when the fighting started. At twenty to one odds, Zark didn't exactly blame them for being surprised at his survival. He did blame them, however, for his parent's death. He cocked the shotgun and lifted it.

Crackle, crackle, crackle!

Every man in the room dropped to the floor, convulsing. But Zark had not fired his weapon. The Fallen recognized the waves of purple light coursing throughout their bodies. The purple light of Force Lightning. Another blast flew through the door at the opposite end of the room, blasting Zark back into the tavern proper, and knocking the shotgun from his hands.

Zark stumbled up to a standing position, until he was forced back down by another attack. But this one wasn't physical, but mental. Waves of fear coursed over him, and he felt a fierce urge to run from the tavern, screaming for his life. It was a commonly practised Sith trick, and Zark had encountered it before. Each Jedi had his own way of defeating it. Usually happy memories. But Zark had none.

"I will not fear," he chanted quietly, "Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me I will turn to see only fear's path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

The waves of fear began to lighten considerably. He found himself to be able to think once more.

"I will not fear!" Zark repeated, louder this time, "Fear is the mind-killer! Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration! I will face my fear! I will permit it to pass over me and through me! And when it has gone past me I will turn to see only fear's path! Where the fear has gone there will be nothing! Only I will remain!"

The fear dissipated almost entirely. Small prickles of it still remained, littered around the room. Zark could think clearly now, and felt a strong Darkside presence nearby, commanding the fear.

"I WILL NOT FEAR!" Zark bellowed, "FEAR IS THE MIND-KILLER! FEAR IS THE-"

"ENOUGH!" Another voice shouted, nearly blasting the Fallen off his feat.

The door to the back room burst open, and off its hinges. Zark had to dive to the side to avoid the flying object. A robed figure walked, no, glided into the room, leaving a trail of black flames behind it. Zark could see into the back room, if it could be called that anymore. It was ablaze with black flame and purple lightning. The corpses of the lackeys lay charred and burned on the floor.

"Darth Hellfire, I presume," Zark managed to keep his cool, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Huh huh huh huh...always a kidder. Like your dear old father!" that stung Zark profoundly, "Even when he died his laughter plagued our ears. And it is you, young Ekan, not me, that burst into the other's home in the middle of the night."

"And it was you, Hellfire," Zark managed to counter, "Not I, that sent his hordes of lackeys out to kill me. They didn't do too good of a job now, did they?"

"Incompetent fools!" Hellfire bellowed, red eyes gleaming out from the hood, "I never once thought they would accomplish their appointed task! I expected as much from a sire of Ekan, especially a Jedi Kight sire of Ekan."

"You seem to know me well, Hellfire," Zark spat at the last word, "But I neither desire nor care about whoever or whatever the hell you are. I came here for one thing only...revenge!"

"Revenge?!" Hellfire echoed, "Such a...non Jedi-like emotion! No, young Ekan! You will learn to know me well. For I am your doom! What my foolish men did do was succeed in exhausting you! Buttering you up for the final blow!"

"Enough talk!" Zark bellowed, igniting his lightsaber, "You're already dead, Hellfire!"

Darth Hellfire ignited his own, red lightsaber, laughing the entire time. The Sith leapt, nearly hitting the ceiling, at Zark, saber high coming low. He didn't even seem to notice it was cutting through the roof. Zark leapt out to meet him, saber low coming high. Both lightsabers met each other in a clash of light.

The fight with Hellfire was the most physically demanding event of my life. His strength alone was enough to pummel me into the ground had I not had the Force with me. Little did I know that the most mentally demanding event of my life would come later that night as well.

Interlude: Dried Tears and Fresh Bullets

To this day, there is no title, no words to describe my alignment with the Force during that time on the backwater planet with no name and no hope. Everyone can agree I was neither Jedi nor Sith, yet the wisest of Masters cannot tell me what I really was. After years and years of searching, I have finally found the answer.

I was the exception to the rule.

Every Jedi and Sith bases their philosophy, some even their entire lives, on one solid fact: There are no shades of grey. Whether one knows it or not, or one admits it or not, one is either good or evil. That night, I didn't care about purposes or hidden paths or destinies. There was no karma for me.

While others might laugh at me or yell at me, I think that is what kept me alive that night. That sheer balance between light and dark. The drawing of better qualities from each side. It is truly amazing that it took so long for someone to discover such a vast wealth of power and balance. The Jedi and Sith have spent their entire existances trying to decide once and for all who is better. Each trying to eliminate each other.

I understand now that that is the worst possible solution to the "problem". To kill off one side, Jedi or Sith, is to upset the balance. To upset the balance could wipe all traces of the Force off the face of the galaxy. Everything requires balance, and the Force is no exception.

So is it really truthful to say I am an exception to the rule?

I suppose not. Better to say that I am a redefinition of the rule. And that is the amazing thing about the sentient beings of the galaxy. They can spend so much time on the same path that they lose sight of what is truth and what is impossible. There is such thing as a side in between, but it is unattainable for any extended period of time.

Which would explain why I began to quickly slip toward the darkside immediately after...but no. I am getting ahead of myself. Back to the story.

Roland. Roland Deschain. It had been the alias he had gone by during his stay at the backwater planet with no name. But no, Roland was much more than a mere false identification. Zark had created a whole life for the man, and in his weakened emotional state, it was getting the best of him. He was going insane.

But not in a bad way. Whenever people think of the insane, they think of lunies locked up in asylums ranting and raving about how they can fly or banging themselves against padded walls. This was a different type of insanity. Zark had heard about it on a few datapads. It was called MPd. Multiple personality disorder.

Roland was real, but at the same time he was fake. Zark knew he was fake. Unfortunately for him, Roland did not. Roland thought himself to be very alive. And he wasn't taking too kindly to the sudden invasion of privacy. Zark couldn't blame him.

Who the fuck are you?! Roland screamed, Get the fuck out of my head!

Your head? Zark asked, managing to keep his calm, This is my head.

Bull@#%$! the new personality screamed, This is my head!

Zark realized he was moving. They were moving. In no apparent direction, but they were still moving. Roland had partial control over his limbs. Definitely not good. Zark still had a job to do, and Roland could become a problem.

Job? What job? Roland asked.

Nevermind, Zark said, I hope you understand that we're in a lot of @#%$ here.

Of course I realize that, mother@#%$!, Roland nearly yelled back, Somehow you've invaded my body!

No, I didn't, Zark thought, sighing in exasperation, You aren't real! I made you up months ago when I first came to this planet!

Oh great, Roland muttered, Not only has my mind been invaded, but invaded by a loony!

If I'm insane, you are too, Zark thought, After all, you're talking to yourself.

Fuck you, loony, Roland thought back, Lets focus on seperating our asses back into our respective bodies, okay.

No time, Zark thought, This has to be finished tonight.

What has to be finished tonight? Roland thought, confused, Does this have something to do with your "job".

Kind of, Zark thought back, If you know of any job that involved killing.

You're a hitman?! Roland thought, surprised.

What? No! Zark nearly yelled, It isn't for profit. The reward is much more valuable. Sweet revenge.

Careful, loony-man, Roland muttered, but nothing escaped Zark's "ears" in the strange "mind-talk", You might find the dinner of revenge to be more bitter than sweet.

Bitter or sweet, it has to be done, Zark replied.

Why? What happened to you? What did your enemies do that would make you want to kill them?

Zark wondered if he could transfer memories as well as thoughts through their mind-talk. Hopefully so.

Get ready, Mr. Deschain, Zark warned, If I'm right, this could feel a little...weird.

How do you know my na- Roland broke off in mid word as Zark began to transfer his memories to the alter ego.

I...I see, Roland replied, In this case, I respect your vendetta of honor.

Vendetta of honor? Zark asked, What are you-

The transfer was something unlike anything Zark had ever experienced. Roland had apparently figured out how to transfer his own thoughts. Apparently, the man didn't feel the need to warn him.

After he had gotten over the sudden vertigo-type sensation of the mind-transfer, Zark found that Roland's history was extraordinarily detailed. Much more than the small little bio Zark had created for the man on one boring night.

Roland had been, in his memories, a "Gunslinger". They were the police officers of the backwater planet with no name. It was much more rugged and Old Westish, however. Apart from the projectile weaponry, which was surprisingly effective despite what history books in the Jedi Library had had to say, the Gunslinger's had rather strict but fair laws, and a code of honor. The "vendetta of honor" was just one of these.

But most importantly of all, Roland had been amazingly skilled with the revolver. With the transfer of fictional character to actual personality had come the man's knowledge and skill with the weapon. It was an amazing experience, Zark thought, to have learned such an ancient craft in a matter of seconds. Even moreso than the vertigo of thought-transfer.

Zark had unintentionally become a Gunslinger.

A Man walked into the Tavern
he was dressed in loose armor and a giant sniper rifle slung on his back
two gleaming handguns strapped to his hips

" i need info and a drink" he said to the Bardroid

then he pulled one of his handguns and pointed it to the droid's head unit

" Now or have a bullet in your mother board" his finger tight on the trigger

a gleam of light was shot but not into the droid, onto his old metal blade called a Katana

" you messed with the wrong person bub" and he shot the gal who fired the shot